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Legends Never Die: The Cusp of Change (ch. 95)
🕑 Added 2024-09-11 14:58:59 +0000 UTC“He conquered Bulgaria? How entirely expected,” Morrigan replied blandly to the news she had expected since Siegfried left with Astrid.
She laid in one of the admittedly comfortable lounging chairs that the Romans favored, her eyes closed as she looked down upon herself through the eyes of Huginn. It was still a strange experience, to gaze through the eyes of another. Through a familiar. There were magics that could accomplish the same thing, but it was the first time Morrigan had ever heard of someone granting such magics to another.
Jill sat across from Morrigan, Ragnar in her lap. A thread of a silverish hue connected them – Ragnar was not her child, yet there was affection there. For her part, the notion of family had always been a rather… obscure concept to Morrigan, she could acknowledge. It was something that Jill chose to cling to, even as her own child grew in her womb. “The situation is developing in line with what he expected. The Bulgarians focused on the Romans, thinking his forces were a trap, and Siegfried punished them for it. But, that's not the important bit.”
In response, Morrigan flapped her wings, slowing her descent as she hopped off her perch. Ragnar, the little creature, immediately lunged for her with a cry of, “Bird!” Deftly avoiding his grasping hands, Morrigan looked over Jill's shoulder at the letter that had arrived with the first ships of their people.
The body of a raven was an interesting change from that of a human. It had taken a great deal of practice to master the Blessing that she had gained – pushing herself into the mind of Huginn was difficult at first but, with time, his mind molded to her presence perfectly. The eyesight, beyond everything else, was the most difficult thing to get used to. Mostly because ravens could perceive colors and hues that the human eye couldn't begin to imagine, to say nothing of how sharp their vision was.
But, with practice, she could make out the tidy and uniform runes that marked Siegfried’s handwriting. She hummed, the sound coming as a chirp from Huginn before she made a conscious effort to pull back.
There were legends about the ability to change ones skin. While Morrigan had few expectations of achieving the same feats as the gods, she did have expectations of matching Flemeth. So many memories were recontextualized the moment she received the Blessing. How the ravens would watch her so closely, even as Flemeth spoke to her with her human mouth.
The difficulty was keeping enough of her presence, her mind, in her human form. One foot in her true body while the other remained in the raven.
“How ambitious,” Morrigan praised, her lips curling into a smile as she finished the letter. His words were short, to the point, with minimal explanation. Likely in case the letter was opened before it reached them.
The letter detailed that upon his victory, he requested to place a forwarding settlement upon the island of Sicily. For the purpose of noticing any military build up on that half of the Mediterranean by the Abbasids.
“He's finally conducting himself as a king,” Morrigan noted, her smirk growing into a smile. “He is creating issues then providing himself as the solution to them, with none being the wiser.” Because the likes of Irene and Charlemagne all got a measure of Siegfried. They understood his nature, just as Morrigan did.
For all that Siegfried had accomplished, he lacked ambition. The Norns had decided that he would become great, but if Thorfinn and Horrik had never made their foolish and ill fated move against Siegfried and his kin, then Siegfried would have been content with a farm and a place of honor in what would be King Horrik’s Hird.
“I'm not used to this side of him,” Jill acknowledged. “When we decided to come here, what he wanted to do was learn. I'm not sure he meant to learn these lessons.” She added with a small sigh, presenting the letter to Ragnar, who clutched it tightly in his fists before trying to read it aloud.
“It is necessary. Once we return home, he will have to rule. The Jarls will be in awe of him, but only for a time. Eventually, he won't seem so much larger than life, and they will begin to plot.” Morrigan dismissed her concerns easily. Siegfried was entirely too honorable. Too hopeful. Had it been up to her, if she were in his place, the moment Irene and Otto decided to foist this ridiculous debate upon them, she would have sacked Constantinople, took the Emperor hostage, and then allied with the Abbasids through marriage and a shared invasion of the rotting carcass of an empire.
But Siegfried disagreed with that plan for a simple reason. He gave his word, and he would honor it. The contract would stand. She supposed being an honorable king had its benefits, but it was not to her taste. Alas, she had not been the one chosen by the gods.
Jill hummed, “In any case, the result should be announced soon. Give it a few days to spread, and before long, people will be talking of the victory and the restoration with the same breath.” Morrigan didn't much personally care for Irene, but she did respect her. She had a ruthlessness that Siegfried needed. Before long, Morrigan entirely expected to hear that the young Emperor Constantine had suffered a most tragic accident and that Irene would become Empress in full.
“Hm. What exactly does that mean for us?” Morrigan questioned as the realm of politics was not one she had much interest in. It all seemed to be nothing more than a thousand and one petty reasons to not exercise the power that you had.
“If the request is granted? Then Norland's development might slow as resources will be divided. And, for what Siegfried has planned… I expect far more aggressive recruitment amongst the locals. Anything after that is a matter of fate, largely depending on Jasmine's decision.” Ah, yes, the empty headed princess. Though, perhaps not so empty headed as she had once seemed. “Perhaps you could check in on her? As well as the debate?”
Morrigan rolled her eyes, both as a human and as a raven, but relented. “Very well,” she said, flapping her wings before taking off. “I suppose there are worse ways to waste my time.”
Flight was intoxicating, and the effect never lessened every time Morrigan took to the skies. It was a feeling that only a precious chosen few could know, but even if she tried to put the feelings into words, she wouldn't be able to convey the sense of… freedom that came with wind under one's wings. In but a moment, she had left the Longhouse behind, taking to the skies and sailing high overhead.
Norland was almost unrecognizable from what it had once been, especially from the air. Siegfried’s builders had learned their trade well, mastering the clay-like concrete to create wonders. The city would likely be under construction until the very end, as Siegfried's expectations for himself were entirely too high. He desired that every building be an equal to the Hagia Sophia or Hippodrome, so the more mundane, yet perfectly serviceable buildings were something of a disappointment to him.
Morrigan was reluctant to admit as much, but she was rather curious what else would change during their time here.
However, what had changed the most were the people.
Beneath her was an interconnected web of threads, many of which could only be puzzled out with the eyes of a raven. The nuance of each thread was only revealed to her once she had gained a greater pair of eyes – an pair of enemies would be connected with a red thread, yet there was a vast difference between the shades of burgundy and crimson. The latter was an intense dislike that would come to blows if given opportunity. The latter was the intention of murder the moment one of the two felt like they could get away with it.
There was a great deal of red threads beneath her, Morrigan noticed. Siegfried and his army were the boot that kept everyone in line, but without his moderating presence, the tensions between the Muslims and Christians were flaring. Yet, it was only the extremists between them that drew both sides towards conflict. Most didn't harbor any particular hatred in their hearts for the enemies of their chosen faith, but it was the fear that had taken root that might goad them to violence.
Fear that if they did not attack first, then they would be attacked first. And because both sides felt that way, an attack became inevitable. To make matters most interesting was that the Jews had taken to hiding, waiting for it all to blow over. Simply because, as Morrigan had learned, whenever the Muslims or Christians were upset over one thing or another, traditionally their solution was to slaughter the Jews enmass.
Morrigan scoffed dismissively, turning her eyes to the worst of the red. These fools called her people savages, completely oblivious to their own hypocrisy. As her gaze drifted, she saw what remained of the guard acting on the information that Morrigan had provided them through Jill – a planned attack being neatly cut off by the Christians before a sword could be drawn.
Content that they had the situation in hand, Morrigan banked and flapped her wings to approach the forum that Siegfried had constructed. The dome at the top made an easy vantage point for her to perch on and peer in. And, she saw exactly what she saw every time she bothered to check in on this so called ‘debate.’
A bunch of self important fools talking in circles with most of them oblivious to the fact that the important decisions had already been made. That didn't stop them from trying to thumb the scales in the favor of their chosen argument. Morrigan saw a web of plots and plans and betrayals. Priests promising support after being bribed, deals being made behind closed doors to weaken their fellows position in the hierarchy.
It was alarming how much cynicism she found gazing upon the room filled with priests. The vaunted holy men of their faith. It was corruption of the highest order and Mortigan found no small measure of delight gazing upon the rotten roots of the Christian faith. Out of all of them, the few true believers found themselves drifting to the Bishop Otto. He sat in a seat, unenthused as they awaited the verdict.
To everyone else, this was merely an opportunity to leverage their positions and make connections to expand their influence. The few that were here because of faith? They found themselves on the fringes.
At the core of it all were two men, who sat across from one another in the center of the debate hall. The Pope and the Patriarch. If it was up to her, she'd bar the door and set the building on fire since the enemies of her faith had so conveniently gathered themselves in one place. Instead, she was forced to watch their fumbling and clumsy plots. Waiting for it all to end so that they could leave.
Then she saw something interesting.
“There's been a development,” she spoke out loud, looking between the Pope and the Patriarch. They were enemies. She understood little and cared less, but the rivalry between the Pope and the Patriarch was well known to her. It was a conflict as old as time as only one could be called king, and both of them saw themselves as the rightful owner of the crown. Which is why it was interesting to suddenly find a green thread linking them. A light hue. An alliance of convenience that wouldn't last beyond the deal struck, if it lasted that long at all. “The Pope and Patriarch have struck some kind of agreement.”
Jill was silent for a long moment, mulling over the revelation as the Patriarch stood up with a roll of paper. The result was being announced, and the tension swelled in the room as the Patriarch spoke in Latin. Whatever was being said was lost on Morrigan, but it seemed to be along the lines of what they had expected. It took Jill a minute to collect her thoughts, “Any hint of what it could be?”
“No. Only that they intend to use each other for some end goal. Given their nature, I expect it to end in betrayal.” She rather hoped it would. Better for it all to fall apart, lest they be bothered with the results.
“It's worth keeping an eye on. Both are being watched, so messages have been slipped to them both. If we find who is passing them on, we can find out what is being said.” Jill reasoned, her tone clipped and stern. “But, I doubt whatever agreement they've made impacts us. It's likely an issue that Irene will have to trouble herself with.”
As she made the decision, the Elephant finished his proclamation and the room erupted into cheering with only a handful protesting the decision – the result was obvious. The restoration of icons. Not particularly interesting to Morrigan, but she did pay close attention to the dissenters. Even those that kept their expressions collected and politely clapped along. They were easy to see as their threads all changed a hue, personal thoughts and allegiances shifting with defeat.
Siegfried was honorable. No matter how irritating or personally offensive he might find a task, he wouldn't go back on his word. Even when he should.
Morrigan had no such reservations. Power was useless unless you used it, and when it was used it must be used ruthlessly, without hesitation or remorse.
Christianity was the enemy of her people. Of their people. Siegfried thought coexistence was possible, and it very well could be. His project in Norland was a model for him to test and find an answer to that question. But one didn't coexist with an enemy. You killed them. Completely and utterly, then you salt the earth so that no other challengers could hope to arise in their place.
The Christians already proved themselves susceptible to these ‘Schisms’. A divided enemy was a weakened enemy.
The embers were already there… they just needed to be fanned into flames, Morrigan decided, casting an eye to Otto where he sat.
…
The texts were wrong about the Bulgarians, and it only became clear why in hindsight. The generals who found defeat in these lands didn't want to be shamed, so they recklessly inflated the number of foes that they faced. It wasn't the first time I had encountered historical revision -- such as when Caesar claimed to lose only one man in a battle that had been measured in the tens of thousands. But, it was the first time I had encountered it in a way that proved relevant to me.
The plan had very nearly failed because I had overestimated the Bulgarians numbers by half -- they had closer to fifteen thousand warriors to summon, or ten thousand after my initial victory over them. The five thousand that I had expected to face me was the only part of the plan that had worked.
The remaining ten thousand chose to ignore both Astrid's army, and the Romans, to avenge their defeat at my hands. Which led me to abandoning the spoils I took at their capital, for a time at least, to race through the countryside to join up with either Astrid or the Romans.
As it had so happened, the Romans were closer and for the first time, we fought together. The Romans acted as the core of the army while I split my forces to act as the flanks. We found favorable terrain on a hill on the edge of one of the many rivers that flowed through Bulgaria. Our numbers were fairly evenly matched, even if the Bulgarians had more than twice our cavalry. Each horse was adorned with lamellar armor, even when most of their men went without.
With our terrain advantage, they had sought to provoke an attack to little avail. At least until Astrid and her army managed to bait the Bulgarians into a trap when they aggressively attempted to prevent them from reinforcing us. A deadly mistake, as they found themselves pinned between two forces and their army soundly smashed.
It was a learning experience, of sorts. Something of an inspiration. But wholly unimportant for everything that came next.
“The boys can be trained,” I said, riding into Kiev. The city hadn't changed much from what I recalled of when I last saw it. “Girls too. They aren't warriors who have years of experience and lessons to unlearn. They can be taught fresh,” I said, though I noted one difference in Kiev. That was my reception.
My people rejoiced, taking to the streets to welcome me, and I was reminded of the Triumph in Constantinople. Only more intense as there was a religious fervor in the air. Of a promise that was being delivered upon. True Vision marked them all as a brilliant shade of blue, their loyalty assured through blind devotion and worship.
Most of them were young, I swiftly noticed. That, I reasoned, was partly due to the type that the stories Gerald told would attract. Young men, the boys that had little hopes of inheritance, setting sail to where wealth was promised. As well as the old and desperate taking their families where they might find a better life. It wasn't the army that I had hoped to receive, but what I got instead was… potential.
Warriors that I could shape from their foundations rather than having to help them unlearn their own way of doing things. In any case, that was a task for another day. Today, I had to prepare myself for everything that came next.
The palace of Kiev was familiar to me as I had briefly visited it during our stay before sailing on to Constantinople. It was a large wooden building of a style that I now recognize as a mixture of Roman and Arabic. The gates swung open, revealing a courtyard that was currently filled with the handful of warriors that had been brought to Kiev.
Through all of the blue, the red shone like a campfire in the dead of night. I didn’t react to them as the dozens of them gazed on, watching me and my retinue approach the building. A quick count marked less than thirty of them, all of them scattered about. I wished Morrigan was here to tell me if they were aware of each other or not.
It was a plot that I had cultivated myself. I knew of the spy that had slipped into Gerald’s men, and I allowed them to report back hoping for this exact outcome. Horrik wouldn’t let an opportunity like this slip by, he would infiltrate the army of recruits I was trying to gather. They’d work to gain my interest, then my trust. And, much like I had already read playing out with so many great men… when I could least afford betrayal, they would plant a dagger in my back.
Some accepted the task because of loyalty to Horrik. Others for a promised reward. It mattered little, I decided, entering the manse. There would be two outcomes for them -- I would kill them out of hand… or…
I could use Horrik’s own agents against him. Convince them that they had my trust and give them an opportunity to stab me in the back, only for them to learn that they never had my trust in the first place. Let them feed Horrik the information that I wanted them to. And when it was all said and done, they’d die a traitor’s death alongside him.
My thoughts were heavy as I entered the hall, finding it similarly filled with my people. These, I quickly noted, were the exiled Jarls and their retinues. They straightened as the door swung open to reveal me, and I observed them every bit as much as they observed me. They had come a very long way, less driven by stories as the people outside, but they had no doubt heard of them. And now they were questioning if I lived up to my legend.
I ignored them all, approaching the other side of the room towards a throne that had been placed at the top of a short set of stairs. With little preamble, I took a seat in it, turning to the room that cheered for my arrival. I raised a single hand and the room quieted down. Looking out at the room, I noticed most of the Jarls were of a grayish hue. But, none of them were outright enemies. It was just that, unlike the others, they wouldn't have come this way if they hadn't been chased out of Denmark.
“You have traveled far, for many reasons. For some, to escape the reach of Horrik and take refuge with one who views him as a most hated enemy,” I started, my tone even as I saw the reaction rippling out. The Jarls stilled their reactions, hiding their thoughts, but not well enough. “Others are simply here in hopes of a better life. But whatever the reason, it means you are here. A long way from home, in new lands -- rejoice, for the gods have surely noticed your bravery.”
That cut through tension in the room as the men and women congratulated each other and themselves. I gave them a moment to do so before continuing. “As of now, Kiev is ours. I intend to maintain a presence in this city as it is a centerpiece for my plans for the future. A future in which I return to Denmark and claim its crown.” More excited cheering but I cut it short by raising a hand again. “In the coming days, I will answer all of your questions and give you what assurances I can. It is the least I can do. However, before then, you must be made to understand that this is a foreign land, with ways very different from ours.”
It wouldn't do much, I knew. Asking them to be on their best behavior… there were always going to be some that acted thoughtlessly, choosing to draw a blade when they suffered an insult. Such was the nature of my people. However, my hope was that I could stay enough of their hands to make this transition as smooth as possible.
“As of now, I am beholden to the Emperor of this land, bound by contract to face his enemies, for a period of three more years. My reasons will be made clear, I hope, when you see Miklagard with your own eyes, as well as the home I have made for our people on an island named Crete.” I continued and now the Jarls were pensive. They had assumed, or hoped, that I would be quick to avenge their defeat. That may cost me some of their support, but they came to me in the end. And they needed me far more than I needed them.
“But rest assured, friends new and old -- Once my contract has ended, I shall return to Denmark. I shall take the head of Horrik and his rotten son, Thorfin, for the murders of my kin. And, I assure you… you all shall have your pound of flesh when it is all said and done.” I finished, leaning into my seat as the cheering filled the room, louder than before.
The transition wouldn't be simple or easy, but I think we would be stronger for it when it was all said and done. But, before I could hope to start on my chosen task, I had to wait.
First, for the news of my victory to spread. Which it did rather shortly and it was soon joined by the verdict of the Grand Debate -- Iconoclasm had been repealed and Icons were restored. I was a bit removed from the empire in Kiev, but the general reaction I saw in the Roman soldiers that accompanied us was what Irene had hoped for. That the decision had been validated by their god with our victory..
Nor did it take long for us to hear another piece of news that I had anticipated for weeks now.
Michael Lachanodrakon had rebelled against the throne, calling upon all his fellow Iconoclasts to join him.
It was finally time to bring a longstanding quest from the gods to a close.
